


Rogue Duel

by Idrelle_Miocovani



Series: Idrelle's Holiday Fanfic Gifts 2017 [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drama, Gen, duels, fight me, rogues - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-12 20:09:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12967458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idrelle_Miocovani/pseuds/Idrelle_Miocovani
Summary: Sybil Trevelyan doesn't know Marin Hawke very well. She's not sure if she can trust her. But the one thing she's desperate to know: who is the better fighter?





	Rogue Duel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [long_LIV_prairies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/long_LIV_prairies/gifts).



> This is a holiday gift for the amazing @long-liv-prairies, who is such a wonderful person and an amazing friend. Sybil and Marin belong to her. Thank you for all your comments on my writing, liv! I hope I did Sybil and Marin justice.

Sybil stabbed the training dummy in the belly. 

And then she stabbed it ten more times. 

She grunted from exertion, sweat dripping down her forehead, pale hair plastered to her neck. Her day had gone from bad to worse and now she felt the intense desire to _fight_ something. Unfortunately, she had been unable to find anyone to train with. It could have been the rain—Skyhold’s icy cold rain encouraged soldiers and agents alike to remain indoors—but Sybil had an inkling that anyone who could spar with her didn’t want to. She was the Inquisitor. And she bordered on the terrifying. 

Which left her with the training dummy. 

She yelled, voice hoarse and straining, and struck it again. Her dagger sunk into the dummy up to the hilt. Sybil tugged on it, but it refused to move. Cursing under her breath, Sybil tightened her grip and yanked on it. 

The dagger didn’t move. 

 _Fuck._  

Sybil wrapped both hands around the hilt, braced a foot against the dummy’s torso and pulled with all her might. She grunted, spitting curses, as the dagger slowly began to slide out. Sybil licked her lower lip, tasting salt from her sweat, tugging on the hilt. The blade emerged and she let out a triumphant shout—and then it snapped in two. 

Sybil fell backwards, landing hard on her rear in the muddy grass. She looked at the dagger hilt, at the sharp edges of the broken blade, then back at the other half of the blade where it stuck out of the dummy’s torso. 

“Well, fuck,” she said and threw the dagger hilt away. She exhaled a sharp breath and stretched her arms above her head, working out the soreness in her muscles. The rain pelted down, drenching her. She could feel the mud soaked through the back of her trousers. 

“You should watch where you throw these things. Someone could lose an eye.” 

Sybil glanced up. Marin Hawke stood several feet away, holding the broken dagger in one hand. She was wrapped in heavy cloak, though she had left the hood down and her dark hair was soaked. There was a smirk on her face and a twinkle in her eye. Despite her baby-round features that gave off an innocent look, Marin was an intuitive and dangerous woman. Sybil had long wondered who would win in a fight. 

“It’s their fault for not paying attention,” Sybil said. She stood up and brushed off her trousers, though it did little good. She was just going to have to deal with being mud-caked in weather like this. 

Marin flipped the dagger in her hand and caught it. “Fair enough.” She glanced at the dummy, raising an eyebrow at the broken blade sticking out of it. “Rough day?” 

“What do you want?” Sybil said. 

“You’re itching for a fight, aren’t you?” Marin shot back. 

Sybil snorted. “Is that a proposal?”

“Look, Inquisitor,” Marin said, “you’ve got your problems, I’ve got mine. Sometimes it’s good to work those feelings out in a healthy manner.” 

Sybil folded her arms. “Do you have to make everything sound sexual?” she said. “Maker’s breath, you’re worse than Bull.” 

Marin laughed. “Let’s just say a certain pirate rubbed off on me.” 

In a movement so fast Sybil almost missed it, Marin threw the dagger hilt at Sybil’s head. The dagger hissed as it flew through the air. Sybil unflinchingly raised a hand and caught it. 

Marin grinned. “What do you say, Inquisitor? Do you think your skills can match mine?” 

Sybil dropped the dagger hilt. It was far from the only blade she kept on her person. She drew two more daggers, her fingers tightening around the familiar grips. She flicked a loose lock of hair out of her face and turned to face Marin. “I don’t know,” she said. “Let’s find out.” 

Sybil dove towards Marin, keeping herself low, her feet slipping on the wet grass. Rain thundered in her ears, the cold droplets prickling her skin. Her heart pounded in her chest and she smiled wickedly as she swung towards Marin, who had not yet drawn her blades. This duel would be over quickly— 

Marin side-stepped Sybil’s attack, her heavy cloak whirling around her, calmly kicked her in the rear as she went sailing past her. Sybil slipped and fell forwards on her face, hitting her chin on a rock embedded in the grass. She was momentarily jarred, but she pulled herself to her feet and swung around to face Marin. 

“You’ve got blood on your chin,” Marin said. 

Sybil wiped it away. “I know.” She raised her daggers once more. “I thought this was going to be a fight.” 

“It is,” Marin replied. “You never specified what _kind.”_  

Sybil chuckled darkly. “Fine, then. Draw your weapons.” 

“That would be entirely unfair to you.” 

“You think you can take me with nothing?” 

“Inquisitor, I just _did.”_  

Sybil yelled and launched herself at Marin again. This time, she was ready for Marin to dodge her attack and she struck a little to the side. Marin flipped herself backwards, skidding on the wet grass, her cloak tangling around her. She landed hard on the ground and went down on one knee. 

Marin raised an eyebrow and smiled. “That was unexpected,” she said. “Good.” 

She unclasped her cloak, throwing it away and finally drawing her weapons. She carried two dual-bladed daggers, their grips made of a dark red leather and imprinted with Kirkwall’s sigil. Her brown eyes darted back and forth as she followed Sybil’s movements, circling her methodically as she planned her attack. She held the blades low, their metal shining and dripping with rainwater as she paced the training grounds. 

Sybil licked her lower lip. It had been a while since she had dueled another rogue—at least one that wasn’t actively trying to kill her. She saw much in Marin’s skillset that reflected her own. This duel would come down to two things: speed and accuracy. 

They clashed, dagger against dagger. Sybil caught Marin’s blades with her own, pushing against her as they slipped in the grass and mud. She grunted and threw Marin back, following up with a second strike. Marin flung herself out of the way, catching Sybil’s blade with the tail of her own and deflecting it. She laughed, exhilarated at the close catch. 

“You can’t run forever, Hawke,” Sybil said, grinning. 

“That’s what they all say!” Marin countered. 

This time, she attacked first, turning gracefully in the air and moving around Sybil with such speed that Sybil was momentarily disoriented. Sybil raised her daggers in front of her at the last moment, the blades singing as they clashed with Marin’s. 

Suddenly, both women slipped. Sybil fell to the side, losing track of Marin as she tumbled and rolled across the grass, her daggers slipping from her grip. She landed uncomfortably on her back, staring up at the grey sky, her face pelted with rain. Her breath caught in her throat and she pushed herself up, looking around frantically for her lost daggers. She saw them sparkling in the grass and she dived towards them, just as she caught Marin’s form spinning towards her out of the corner of her eye. 

Sybil grabbed her daggers and pointed them upwards, stopping less than an inch away from Marin’s throat. She smiled, rainwater dripping down her face, reveling in Marin’s surprised look. 

“Got you,” she said. 

“Take a better look,” Marin retorted. 

Sybil glanced down. The tip of Marin’s blade rested against her stomach. 

“Looks like we both win,” she said. 

“Or lose,” Sybil replied. “You gut me, I cut your throat—either way, we’re both dead.” 

Marin threw back her head and laughed. She pulled her daggers away and proffered a hand. Sybil took it and allowed herself to be pulled up out of the dirt. 

“Good fight, Inquisitor,” Marin said, picking up her cloak clasping it around her shoulders. “I hope we can do it again sometime.” 

Sybil couldn’t help but grin as she watched Marin leave the training grounds and climb the stairs to the great hall. Perhaps today wasn’t such a waste after all. 

 _Well, now,_ Sybil thought. _I can see why Varric likes her._


End file.
